


RED

by enid_salt



Series: MCU character studies/meta [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Endgame Spoilers, Gen, Major Endgame Spoilers, like do not read if you have not seen it, this is how I cope with this frickin movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 14:58:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18701899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enid_salt/pseuds/enid_salt
Summary: Nick Fury remembers damn near every word Natasha has ever said to him. In front of him, even.Some cut deeper than others.(Again, heavy emphasis on the fact that this is about a major Endgame plot point. Be forewarned.)





	RED

_When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a ballerina._

She had admitted it once; in a low key debriefing, with the office lights darkened and the security set to keep it quiet instead of keep the meeting’s minutes. 

Fury had brought out his good scotch - _America doesn't do good vodka so might as well_ \- and two tumblers. 

He doesn't prompt or prod. Natasha doesn't respond to that. 

She was twirling a finger around the rim. Her gaze unfocused but seeing. It had been one of those kind of weeks. 

_In a way, I was. I've not danced since. Maybe it's one of those things meant only for children._

That was her tell. Everything worth something good was for children. 

And it had been so long since she had been a child. 

Fury, moved by a new feeling burrowing into his chest, set his glass down and waited for her to look him in the eye. 

“The first thing I ever wanted to be was . . . a pirate.” 

There's this elongated breath that they held before they laughed so hard, it seemed to bounce back off the walls and buzz itself under their skin and rattle their bones. 

That moment, etched in memory, is too precious for him to share. 

\-- 

Fury will admit he can take more than he can give sometimes. 

He's done and over apologizing for it. It's not important enough to him. 

But, if he had to, he'd tell Barton he never meant to have this stolen moment and let it end up so . . . bittersweet. 

Clint and Natasha were in the locker room and packing up to take some time off that they had coming for a while. 

Little baby Barton was on the way and Clint looked ready to quit if he couldn't get out of there any faster. 

Natasha was a little hesitant. She didn't have much to pack and her rent-by-the-week room wasn't that far away. But she was placing each article of clothing in the bag one by one. 

Fury wasn't even supposed to be in here but he was a few steps away from being in their eyeline to ask something about the broken comms before they left. 

He stopped when Romanov suddenly picked a box out of her stuff and held it out to Barton. 

Clint didn't immediately take it. Looked at it and her like one of them was too volatile to shake. 

_It's for the baby._

She said annoyed, like it didn't suit her to be picking up gifts for something as inconvenient as an infant, but her fingers tapped the side like she was nervous to hold onto it any longer. 

Clint set his things down and took it. Natasha turned back but Clint opened it then and there and plopped down on the nearest empty space on the bench. 

He held up the trinket and admired it as though the fluorescent lighting was doing it any justice. 

It’s a knit round ornament with a ribbon loop for hanging. It's a very tasteful shade of ivory with dark embroidery bearing the words 'Baby of Mine’ across it. 

Clint ran his thumb over the phrase and smiled. 

_It's for the center of the mobile. You said it was coming along but you hadn't found the right thing to put in the center. Something soft, something not dangerous. So I found it._

Nick, just a voyeur in the shadows, knew as well as Barton she didn't find shit. It's too evenly stitched to have been mass produced and yet the lack of overall finesse betrays an amateur's handiwork. 

She made it. For the baby. 

“She’s gonna love it.” 

Natasha nodded and smiled back. 

As Clint got up and crossed closer to embrace Natasha, Nick slunk back out the door without a word. 

He won't ever mention it to them that he knows about it. But maybe one day, he'll tell Lila. 

\-- 

He remembers her face when she saw him after the causeway attack. 

He remembers every single flickering emotion her features took on before they settled on barely veiled betrayal. 

He tried to make it up to her - he wanted her to know that this wasn't something he just decided on a whim; that he did in fact trust her. 

He told her she would have done the same thing and she agreed but it's then that the all-seeing Nick Fury picked up on Natasha Romanov's other tell. She sold herself short. 

She wouldn't have done things the way he did. 

If she had asked him right then - just even once - if he regretted it, he would have told her the truth. 

Yes.

\-- 

It's a clusterfuck of a situation after the last battle with Thanos. 

People are everywhere, and most of the universe's heroes are congregated in the ruins of the former Avengers compound after uniting to fight as one. 

Nick Fury is no super soldier. He doesn't have any powers or even the advanced technology to fight with the big guns toe-to-toe. 

He had let them get their hands dirty and now he and Maria Hill are coming by to help organize and plan and clean up. 

Except. 

Barton meets them about a mile out. 

Stands in the middle of the road so the van has to stop. 

Nick, the driver, gets out first and throws his hands in the air. 

“What the fuck, Barton?” 

They all knew he was coming, it's not like Nick and Maria had completely checked out - they had been on the comms system just like everyone else who had come back from the snap. They had hopped on long enough to give everyone there an ETA and then hit the road. 

Maria climbs out too, “Did something happen?” 

They knew about Stark but maybe someone else's injuries got the best of them. It’s one of those precarious games of rush-to-wait, post-battle, that always keeps them on their toes. 

“Sir, it's about the mission.” 

Nick sighs and shuts the door, leaning against the car with his hip. He doesn’t have time for this but if Barton has something to confess, like the guilt on the face speaks of, it’s better to handle it now. 

“Go on.” 

Clint Barton takes a deep breath and starts talking about a planet called Vormir. 

The soul stone. Sacrifice. Soul for a soul. 

He tells Fury her last words. 

_Let me go. It's okay._

At some point, Nick has stopped leaning and has slumped down to sit on the ground. 

Barton keeps apologizing and Maria has come around the car to put her hand on his shoulder. 

She's gone. 

He sits and breathes and lets the news rattle in his ear until everything - the ground, the air, sounds and colors - blur together in an unfocused mess. 

He knows what they're waiting for - what Barton is waiting for: a royal ass-chewing lecture of epic proportions. The anger and bluster of 'what were you thinking, letting her do that’ or 'that wasn't the mission, Barton’ or even ‘I sent you two into every other mission without backup or extraction because you two always made it back alive and together’. He can feel the words on the tip of his tongue already. But there's not enough will in him to get them out. 

Fury brushes them both off. He stands up and dusts himself off.

“Barton,” he barks out, “you're dismissed.” 

Clint doesn't move. 

Softer, he sighs, “Go home.”

Clint turns back to the rubble and Nick starts back toward the car. 

Maria hesitates behind him. 

“Hill, we got a job to do.” 

She walks back around and climbs in the vehicle. 

As he starts the engine, she grabs a napkin from the center console and wipes at her damp eyes. 

He can't yet. When he's done, maybe.

He gets as far as the crater and seeing the massive wreckage before he stops. 

Nick Fury may not be in charge but he knows how to get shit done when no one else can. 

Stark is being taken care of by Potts and Rhodes but there's a bit more to take care of in terms of everyone around them. 

Nick coordinates triage and transportation for everyone that needs it. He's decisive and unflinching and exactly what the moment needs. 

One by one, the others - Banner, Thor, and Rogers - manage to pass by at some point and thank him. Their grips linger like after all this they still need to feel for themselves that he's really here and back. 

He gets it. He controls himself enough not to double take at every flash of red that passes through his peripheral view. 

Nick Fury doesn't shed a tear in their company. 

When what's done is done and they have to call it quits for the time being, Nick climbs in the car alone and drives. 

He drives and drives until he's near empty on the gas gauge and near a dive bar. 

He parks and walks in. 

He orders a drink straight up and he throws it back without pause. 

This is when he breaks. 

There are tears and sobs and more glasses until he's surrounded by empty bottles and nothing else. 

Carol Danvers slides on to the barstool next to him and says with the grace of a truck, “Yeah I figured this what you'd be doing right about now.” 

He slams his near empty glass down and it shatters in his grip. The sharp edges dig in but he barely feels it. 

Carol unravels his fist and pulls the pieces out. It takes a second but then her fingers wrap a fabric of some sort around his hand. There’s a glow - different from her powers but definitely extraterrestrial - and it’s all better. 

“Didn't know you had shit that could do that.” 

Carol smirks, “Picked up some tricks in the last 30ish years, Fury.” 

The years start to add up in his slow moving train of thought and he looks at Carol with his drink fogged eyes as best he can. 

The hair is new but everything else hasn't changed a bit. But. Her eyes are red rimmed and tear laden like his. 

The grand expanse of the years they spent separated stretch out like this: It took five years to undo the snap. His pager worked. Carol has had five years with her - with all of the ones who had been left behind - and she's mourning them already, too. 

“I'm gonna miss her.” 

He can't say much else. Doesn't have the words for it. Carol nods and pats his hand before pulling it back and motioning for new glasses. 

There isn't more to say right now. They'll drink, they'll cry, they'll get up the next day. 

_Nothing lasts forever._

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm dead inside. Kinda on the outside too? Either way, let's sob through this together, guys.


End file.
